


Yes, Master

by gaybladia



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, M/M, Master/Slave, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 12:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24969727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaybladia/pseuds/gaybladia
Summary: As a sex slave, Sora's entire life consists of catering to his Master's every desire. When Young Xehanort brings him to a black market convention for the ultra wealthy, Sora is on his best behavior, and gets rewarded with his own gorgeous, silver-haired slave.
Relationships: Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts), Sora/Young Xehanort
Comments: 25
Kudos: 64





	1. The Reward

**Author's Note:**

> \--- CONTENT WARNING! READ THE TAGS!!! ---
> 
> I wrote this for me, myself and I, and honestly never intended to post it at all. I'm so glad others have gotten enjoyment out of it as well <3

Sora scrunched his toes and dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand as he waited for Xehanort to turn his back. A moment was all he needed. One quick distraction and the unnerving chill that clawed its way underneath Sora’s skin would be gone. But until then, Sora was a slave to it—completely helpless against the tiny tremors that assaulted his nerve endings.

“Xehanort, is that you?”

There! The diversion he needed. As if time wasn’t already slowed to a crawl, he painstakingly watched as the white-haired man by his side rolled his eyes and sighed before putting on a fake grin and turning towards the voice calling to him.

Sora paid no attention to the conversation. It didn’t matter, only that his Master’s back was turned. He mercifully slid as many fingers as would fit underneath the heavy leather collar around his neck and massaged the skin there. No matter how well-made and expensive the things Xehanort dressed him in, collars were always itchy after an entire day of wearing one. The sheer black nylon encasing the rest of his body kept the leather body harness from itching at least, though it still pulled in a couple of places he wished it wouldn’t. But his attire wasn’t up to him. Little in his life was.

With the offending itch taken care of, his hands returned to his sides with lightning speed. Slaves weren’t supposed to touch their collars—ever—lest it be seen as a sign of disrespect towards their owners. Luckily, none of the eyes on him in the grand hall seemed too concerned about it. The countless businessmen of fortune and influence were too busy sipping expensive wine and talking illegal business to waste their time outing a slave for bad behavior.

Still, Xehanort insisted Sora stand by his side at these events as one of his most prized possessions. One he loved to flaunt in front of his rich business partners. It wasn’t uncommon to hold a slave in such high regard, but Xehanort was known to be a little more protective of him than most.

An arm snaked around Sora’s waist and turned him towards an extremely tall man with the same white hair and yellow eyes. “Sora,” Xehanort said, “this is my brother, Ansem. Say hello.”

Sora straightened his back and folded his hands in front of him, the rings of the leather cuffs around his wrists clinking together faintly. He bowed deeply. “Hello, Sir Ansem, a pleasure to meet you.” Sora stayed there until Xehanort gave him permission to stand upright again with a snap of his fingers.

All things considered, Sora deemed himself lucky to call Xehanort his Master. As far as the monsters that owned other humans went, there were far worse Sora could have belonged to. Horror stories plagued his thoughts every day of young men and women being sold to sadists who went through slaves by the dozens, using and discarding them like they were nothing more than soiled rags, then buying up brand new ones to defile anew. Sora had seen a few first-hand back when he was still in training, and that fear drove straight into his chest and stayed there, reminding him what could happen if he didn’t keep Xehanort pleased.

Crossing his arms, Ansem studied him from head to toe, and Sora tried his best not to squirm under his lecherous gaze. A silk gloved hand extended to grip Sora’s jaw and tilt his head up. “This is the one you stole from Xemnas in the auction, isn’t it?”

Xehanort scowled but allowed Ansem to continue his inspection. Normally, someone else laying a hand on Sora without permission would send Xehanort into a rage, but there was something holding him back this time. Sora cast a questioning glance to his Master, who only grit his teeth harder. “I won him fair and square.”

“Of course you did,” Ansem said, condescending. “Gotta admit though, you’ve done a good job with him. Teach him any tricks?”

“It’s been three years, what do you think?”

Ansem smirked, a dark air seeping into the space between them. “You’ll have to show me sometime.” 

_“Anyway,”_ Xehanort said, dodging the request, “are you here for business or pleasure?”

The conversation continued and Sora silently let out his breath, thankful that he wasn’t the topic anymore.

Days like this were even more stressful than the others. At ‘home' (Xehanort’s estate) he at least had downtime—plenty of moments to rest and catch his breath. Here, he was on display. A trophy for Xehanort to flaunt. Glossy and groomed to a perfect shine, dressed in leather and lacing meant to entice. To tease what Xehanort possessed that they didn’t. And Sora accepted his place—to stand by his Master’s side and be ogled and desired by those who wished to have him. Make them green with envy over Xehanort and his perfect, obedient slave.

After Ansem walked away, a finger under Sora’s chin brought his eyes to meet familiar yellow ones. Xehanort studied his face with concern, a frustrated scowl wrinkling his lips and brow. “That fucking asshole. Did he damage you?”

Sora shook his head slightly, careful to not let his chin break contact with Xehanort’s finger. “No, Master, I’m not hurt.”

Xehanort scoffed. “That prick thinks that just because he’s older, whatever's mine is rightfully his. Always has.” The back of his silk gloved fingers slid against the skin of Sora’s cheek, gentle and eerily affectionate. “You did so good, exactly as I asked.” He brushed a brunette lock from Sora’s forehead and slid his fingers into his hair, palming the back of his head. Sora shuddered from the touch. As much as he resented every second of servitude, receiving his Master’s praise stirred the one thing inside him that still brought him some semblance of joy—the innate satisfaction of knowing he had been _good._ It was the only happiness he knew in this life, and he chose to embrace it.

“Thank you, Master.”

Xehanort smiled then with a soft hum. “I think you deserve a reward. Come.” He released his grip and walked past Sora who turned quickly, wary to keep up, an optimistic tingle in his chest.

Xehanort was nothing if not consistent. Calculated. Everything he did had a rhythm—a predictable dance by which he ran his company, his household, and those who worked for him, slave or otherwise. The terms he used were no different. And ‘reward’ was among the better ones, Sora had learned. What Xehanort considered a reward varied. It could be anything from a nice meal to a day of pampering, but it was always something done specifically to make Sora happy. 

The marbled hallways they traversed were decidedly less crowded than the grand ballroom they had been socializing in. Still, there were armed attendants at every door along the way, and Sora tried to push out of his mind the kinds of debauched activities, trading and business deals happening behind each one. He didn’t know any of the details, but he had been around Xehanort long enough to know that nothing about them was any semblance of ethical.

They finally reached two ornate doors that automatically slid open to reveal an elevator. Once inside, Xehanort instructed the attendant to take them to a subfloor—B2—and as the doors slid shut again, a dread took root in Sora’s stomach. There was something familiar about this. About that floor, maybe?

The descent took seconds but felt like an eternity. What did Xehanort want to ‘reward’ him with? If it was anything from this place, fostered in the seedy underbelly of the world, Sora certainly didn’t want it. But would he dare reject something given to him by his Master? That would be the greatest of insults; not for turning down a gift, but for daring to think he had a _choice._

The elevator stopped, the doors slid open, and all of the blood in Sora’s body left his face, pooled in his stomach, and threatened to push every bit of bile from it. He knew this room. 

This was the room where Xehanort had purchased him. 

The room where he had been bound and stretched and on display, hundreds of potential buyers touching him and poking at him like a piece of fresh meat for days on end, looking at him like he was nothing more than a doll, discussing his stats—height, weight, muscle mass, genital length and size—to see if he was a good fit for their personal devices, dungeons, and hell holes. Negotiating his _price_ as if he was a used vehicle, ready to be ridden.

And now it was no different. The room was filled with row after row of fresh sex slaves. Bound like animals yet displayed like works of art—seen as no more than merchandise for the ultra-wealthy. Playthings for those who would dare to own another human for their own amusement. For their own sick pleasure. Or worse.

Sora stood frozen in place, unable to move, unwilling to subject himself to the sights and sounds of auctions being held, sales being made, innocents like him being bought and sold like cattle. That is until Xehanort, already a few steps into the room, turned and met him with a scowl when realizing Sora wasn’t at his side.

Cold reminders of the pain that came with disobeying jolted Sora’s feet forward. Xehanort caught him by the jaw and pulled him close enough to feel his breath, to see the golden specs in his eyes mixed with the sickening yellow. “You weren’t being disobedient, were you?”

“No, Master,” Sora forced out, swallowing hard and holding his breath against the fear of retribution.

Mercifully, Xehanort grinned. “Good.” His thumb dragged slowly over Sora’s bottom lip. “Then let’s pick you out something nice.” It was said as plainly as if they were picking out an outfit, as if the room before them wasn’t a showcase of _people_ for sale. 

Sora’s heart pounded as they walked through row after row of men and women shined up and on display. Most of them were naked, some scantily clad, dressed in a way to show off their most marketable assets. Some were in chains, other ropes, a few held up in vertical stockades. One seller kept theirs behind glass like exquisite dolls in collector’s boxes. Stat cards were set beside each one, displaying a range of information including age, origin, level of training, special skills, and whether or not they were untouched.

“See anything you like?” Xehanort asked, placing a cold hand on Sora’s shoulder. “You can have any one you want.”

The notion of _having_ a slave turned Sora’s stomach. He didn’t even know if a slave _could_ own another slave. He didn’t have possessions; he didn’t _own_ anything. Not even his own life. This was just another plaything for Xehanort to use. Just like he was.

What would Sora even _do_ with one? His life consisted of ensuring Xehanort’s fleeting satisfaction—pleasing him at night, resting and training during the day. Dressing up and sitting on display during parties—disgusting displays of power and wealth with Sora as the centerpiece; the jewel of his collection. Being the Master’s favored sex slave made most regard Sora with fear, jealously, or hatred. Touching him was to risk facing the Master’s wrath, so most just kept their distance. This didn’t afford Sora many friends in the household.

Maybe he could pick himself a friend...

Sora immediately shook away such naive thoughts and focused. The faster he picked one the faster they could both get out of here. He was about to point to a random exhibit when something caught his eye. A glimmer of silver from across the room. A head of hair in a specific shade so rare he had never seen it before. Curious, Sora made his way over to a muscular man bound intricately within a steel frame. He was kneeling, resting on his heels with knees spread shoulder-width apart. Heavy leather cuffs held his wrists out level with his head, elbows bent, biceps oiled up along with the rest of his naked body—hard and chiseled like that of a god, and freely on display before Sora’s eyes.

Though his head was bowed, Sora could see the collar that encircled his neck was fancier than even the one he himself wore, studded with emeralds in a gaudy display of prestige. Glancing down at the plaque displaying his information, Sora found he was one of the most expensive slaves in the room. Obedient, subservient, and apparently expertly trained in both giving and receiving any type of sexual pleasure his master commanded of him.

“Riku,” Sora read the name on the card aloud, and when he looked back up the most stunning green eyes he had ever seen stared back at him. Their intensity was a little frightening at first, causing Sora to shift his weight back, even though there was no way the man could get free. The emotion directed at him flickered between disgust and dread, until those eyes glanced down for a brief moment to Sora’s own collar. Instantly, the man softened, realization dawning, and he met Sora’s gaze again with a deeper understanding. A connection—one slave to another. 

Sora’s heart fell, and he suddenly wanted to know everything there was to know about Riku. His favorite color. What his favorite food was. Had his hair always been that beautiful? His hopes. His dreams...not that any of that mattered anymore. For either of them.

“You have exquisite taste,” Xehanort said, coming up behind Sora to study Riku, who looked at Sora in confusion.

“I- I’m just doing as you asked, Master,” Sora said quickly, not wanting Riku to get the wrong impression.

Xehanort made a sound of amusement and placed his hands on Sora’s shoulders from behind. “Do you want him?” he whispered into Sora’s ear. The chill that went down Sora’s spine felt strange against the heat rising in his chest.

“I...” he started, but Riku watched him so intently that Sora felt his cheeks heat up under his gaze. Riku didn’t say a word but shifted a little in his confines, looking away long enough for Sora to sneak a guilty glimpse at his body, lingering near his tapered waist, strong hips, and strong thighs. The power he must have when he— 

“It’s okay,” Xehanort said, sliding his hands down to rest on Sora’s hips, “no need to say it. Your body has answered for you.”

Fear struck Sora for a moment, not sure if showing desire for someone other than his Master would get him into trouble. But the kiss to his shoulder then was tender, and though it made his skin crawl, it meant Xehanort was pleased. Sora let out a silent sigh of relief but was devastated to see that Riku refused to make eye contact with him again.

Xehanort placed a second kiss near the hinge of Sora’s jaw, his breath hot and wet against Sora's skin. “I look forward to watching you play with your new toy,” Xehanort said, running his fingertips up Sora’s arms. “Just remember what’s mine.”

“Of course, Master.” Sora struggled to keep his voice steady as he answered, adjusting his hips without even thinking about it, and he could feel Xehanort’s satisfied smirk.

“Good boy.”

Sora chanced one more look at Riku before Xehanort stepped between them and snapped his fingers at a nearby attendant, who rushed quickly to his side. “I’ll have this one. Have him sent to my estate,” Xehanort said, nodding in Riku’s direction. The man bowed his head in acknowledgment, took the card with Riku’s information and scurried away.

“Now, come,” Xehanort coaxed, tugging up on the black leather harness tucked between Sora legs. “Let’s get you home and prepped. It’s been a busy day.”

Sora sucked in a breath and tried his best not to curl in on himself in an attempt to disappear. “Y-yes, Master...” 

As he obediently followed Xehanort back through the halls, Sora kept his head bowed against the dark thoughts that invaded him. Too real memories of the _taste_ as Xehanort’s eyes bore down on him from above; the _sound_ of skin slapping hard against skin as his back slid against silk sheets; the _feel_ of a cock he didn’t want driving into him, filling him up, no choice but to grin and bear it. 

But he swallowed them all. He accepted his place. This dark, cold hell from which there was no escape. It didn't matter that Sora was tired, or hungry, or that his legs hurt from standing all day. He still had a lot of work to do to please Xehanort when they got home. And there was still the car ride to get there.

Sora’s night was far from over.


	2. The Limo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xehanort decides to have some fun on the way home from the convention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we get to the good stuff. Heavy angst ahead.

After finalizing Riku’s purchase and rubbing elbows with a few more high-profile business partners, Xehanort led Sora to a back entrance where his limo and personal driver were already waiting. 

While Xehanort gave the man instructions, Sora took the opportunity to look up at the expanse of stars in the night sky. Like little fireflies they twinkled and danced in the air, their light beautiful even through the haze of the city. Sora couldn’t help but envy their freedom. It wasn’t often he got to go outside, and he longed to soar up and dance alongside them—to sprout wings and fly away to a place where captivity and servitude didn’t exist.

Sora often escaped to other worlds in his mind—worlds where he could ride on magic carpets and singing songs on rainbows. He liked being in the sky, like a bird flying free without a care or worry, going as far as his wings would take him. 

But this little bird was caged. His wings clipped. Only able to sing when his keeper allowed, and even then the songs weren’t his own. 

He wondered if Riku remembered how to sing. If he remembered what it was like to fly.

Obeying the snap of Xehanort’s fingers, Sora climbed into the back of the limo and was greeted with the familiar smell of leather seats and expensive red wine poured and ready. It was warm inside, pre-heated to the exact temperature Xehanort liked it. Sora was grateful for that since the nylon bodysuit covering every inch of skin below his neck did little to keep the heat in, and the cold rings of the leather harness were just that—cold and hard and pressed tightly against his tired body. It was dark, too, the only light being tiny blue guidelights on the floor and the streetlights reflecting through the windows.

Sora shuffled to his seat in the back row and Xehanort slid in next to him soon after, occupied with a phone call Sora paid no attention to. Instead, he took the opportunity to lean over and look out the window. The buildings in the heart of the city were massive, towering structures. The life that Sora had been forced to leave behind was tropical—sun and sand and the sweet fruit of the islands juicy in his hands and just as delicious. The city was foreign to him until about a year ago when Xehanort started bringing him on these business trips—some kind of black market showcase for the filthy rich. Sora didn’t pretend to understand it. He didn’t want to. He just did as he was told in the hopes that someday, somehow, he’d get to run free on the beaches of his home again. 

But until then he’d be a good boy. He would look pretty and dress up and kneel down and say ‘yes, Master’ and open up and bend over then cry it all away til the next day.

The barely audible beep of Xehanort’s phone alerted Sora that he should probably sit back and be at attention, but he decided to keep these precious few moments more to himself, touching a hand to the window while watching the buildings go by. An arm quickly snaked itself around his waist, however, and with an inaudible sigh Sora twisted and resigned to the golden eyes of his owner.

“You were a good boy today, Sora,” Xehanort said, pulling him close until their bodies were flush against each other. His other hand came up to wrap around the top of Sora’s neck, bracing his jaw. “Everyone’s eyes were on you,” he continued in a softer tone, keeping his grip firm but running a single finger over Sora’s cheek. “My brother—he wanted you. But you’re mine, aren’t you?”

Sora didn’t know if that was true in the way Xehanort’s ego thought it was, but Ansem had certainly looked at him like a five-course meal. Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean he wanted Sora in _that_ way. But like a good boy, Sora said what his Master wanted to hear. “Yes, Master. But he can’t have me. I belong to you and only you.”

Invigorated by the answer, Xehanort growled before pulling Sora into a kiss, open-mouthed and wet. But there was no love or affection in the gesture. It was a show of power. A play of possession. Proof that he _could_ —and that Sora would let him. 

And he did. Sora relaxed his jaw and let Xehanort in. Let him invade his mouth, his tongue swirling to lick every inch inside. Sora didn’t return the favor, but not as an act of defiance. He had been trained not to return it without permission. He was a doll to be played with—a puppet whose strings were very much attached. But this puppet had a voice, and Xehanort captured that too, swallowing every little whine as his fingers gripped his neck tighter and tilted his head back further.

Eventually, Xehanort pulled back, slowly, trailing his tongue over Sora’s red and swollen lips, then replacing it with his fingers, applying pressure despite Sora’s sharp inhale. The glow of the city lit up Xehanort’s golden eyes like warning beacons, soft now as they studied Sora’s mouth, predatory and swelling with the rush of dominating him. 

A small sound escaped Sora’s lips as two fingers pressed inside, and he obediently opened his mouth wider to accept them. It was better than the alternative; silk gloves were by far one of the least offending things to force its way past his lips. 

“Luxord,” Xehanort addressed the driver, tilting his head toward the front of the vehicle but never taking his eyes off Sora’s lips, “how long until we arrive?”

“About 20 minutes, sir.”

The edges of Xehanort’s mouth turned up into a grin as he pulled out then slid his now wet fingertips over Sora’s lips. “Perfect.” He released Sora and leaned back in his seat, making himself comfortable. After a cocky toss of his hair, he parted his legs then patted the edge of the seat between his knees with three fingers extended.

It was a silent command, first taught to Sora in training long ago. One finger meant stand at attention. Two meant sit or kneel. Those were the most common. 

Three, however...

Like a trained animal, Sora immediately slid onto the floor and positioned himself in the familiar space between Xehanort’s legs. Only with time and training was he able to keep his expression neutral despite the disgust that sat heavy on his tongue. His Master’s smug demeanor didn’t help, arms on the back of the seat to either side of him, looking down on Sora—the perfect pet that had obeyed his command without question.

Guided by his training, Sora began by tracing his fingers up the soft fabric of Xehanort’s dress pants. A slave never rushed to touch any part of his Master’s body, especially the erogenous zones. Contact was made gradually, giving time for the order to be changed or instruction to be given. 

Sora was a good slave. Xehanort told him so, and it was in his best interest to remain in his Master’s favor.

When he reached the waistband of Xehanort’s pants, Sora paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before unfastening it and pulling down the zipper, hyper-aware of keeping it as far from skin and hair as possible. Luckily, the fabric of his black briefs created a barrier, and Sora let out the breath he was holding. Once— _once_ —he had been careless and caught Xehanort’s skin in a zipper’s teeth, and the resulting punishment still gave him the occasional nightmare.

Separating the flaps of the briefs, Sora carefully released Xehanort’s half-hard cock from its confines and couldn’t help but scowl. The wretched thing was far too familiar with every part of Sora’s body capable of pleasing it. Unfortunately, his hand wasn’t the best way of getting the job done. 

Sora licked his lips and briefly clamped his tongue between his teeth hard enough to get a good amount of saliva flowing. The last thing he wanted was to go in dry—to taste more of Xehanort than he needed to. Saliva created a barrier. Plus, the more pleasurable it was for his Master, the quicker it’d be over. 

A single bead of precum tainted his tongue at the first lick. Though Xehanort prided himself on cleanliness—a fact Sora was thankful for every day—nothing could wash away his natural musk. In another life, Sora may have found it somewhat alluring. But being forced to breathe it against his will turned it rancid.

With everything sufficiently slicked up, Sora took Xehanort into his mouth, all the way until the tip met the back of his throat. There was no reason for a long buildup. Outside the comfort of his estate, Xehanort wanted it hard and fast. Besides, Luxord said they only had 20 minutes, so Xehanort would only really be interested in getting off. And if not, Sora would be instructed otherwise.

As Xehanort’s cock grew to full hardness in his mouth, Sora made tiny adjustments to allow it to expand into his throat while still allowing himself to breathe. He didn’t gag, but his eyes instantly began to water. Even after hundreds of blowjobs, it was one reaction he still couldn’t control. The taste was something he’d gotten used to, but that didn’t make it any less unpleasant.

Xehanort kept silent. There was a slight grin on his face, but otherwise no indication Sora was making any progress despite nearly gagging on his cock. Sora didn’t even get the satisfaction of a moan or a hitched breath. No praise or a ‘good boy.’ Just that damned smirk that said _you’re mine_.

However, over the years Sora had learned how to read his Master. He knew not to listen for a moan, but to notice the tensing of his jaw in the curve of his neck. His body may have been still, but the subtle curling of his fingers into the leather seatbacks gave away how good it actually felt. Sora took it as his only consolation. Proof that he was being a good boy.

As much as it sickened him, he craved that hollow praise.

With Xehanort at full hardness, Sora dragged his lips back to the head and gave it a firm lick before sinking back down to the base. His jaw already ached with the effort to maintain a firm suction while keeping his teeth away. Giving head was one of the most nerve-wracking things Sora had to perform. At least when Xehanort took his ass there was little chance of doing something wrong. But blowjobs were a constant effort. Head, jaw and tongue had to work in tandem as they’d been trained. There was no time to zone out or rest, even for a moment. 

Sora pulled out for another lick—and another breath—before taking the entire thing back into his mouth. Not deep enough to choke himself, but enough to swallow around the head and feel the resulting twitch in Xehanort’s hips. Saliva oozed in response to the intrusion, but he kept it contained. Staining Xehanort or his clothing with any of his fluids would only earn him a punishment.

Since they only had a limited amount of time, Sora decided to employ the use of his hand as well. If he wasn’t able to get Xehanort off by the time they pulled in the driveway, it was pretty much guaranteed that he’d be called to his Master’s room tonight to finish the job. And in the comfort of his own home, Xehanort would most likely want more than his mouth.

Sora slowly brought his hand up to the only inch of Xehanort’s cock that wasn’t yet inside him. Xehanort made a small sound of approval before opening his legs a little wider to give Sora more room to work. Gripping the base, Sora applied the perfect, practiced amount of pressure and stroked along the length while sliding in and out of his mouth in a steady rhythm. The nylon covering his hand was quickly soaked—something Sora would just have to deal with until he got home and was allowed to change. The rest of his outfit had grown quite uncomfortable at this point as well, but he couldn’t take it off without permission.

“Ass in the air, pet,” Xehanort commanded as if he had heard his thoughts and decided to increase his suffering. 

Sora quickly scrambled to his knees in response. He hadn’t even realized he’d been sitting down, hiding his body from his Master’s view. A stupid mistake. Luckily Xehanort didn’t seem to mind, correcting him with a command rather than something more physical. But not being able to see Sora’s body hadn’t been helping him get off any faster. They were probably going to be home soon, so Sora had to work quickly.

“Mmm- _mm_ ,” Sora gave a purposeful, strangled moan. He could have kept quiet and not given Xehanort the satisfaction, but that would only serve to make it last longer. Xehanort got off on _domination_. The more subservient Sora was—the more he struggled—the more Xehanort liked it. 

He got off on being a monster.

“Five minutes, boss,” a voice casually announced from the front of the limo. But it wasn’t the same voice as the driver. Sora barely had time to wonder why before a hand firmly gripped the back of his head. 

“Time to finish up,” Xehanort said, and Sora didn’t even have to look up to know there was a dark grin on his Master’s face. Sora got half a breath in through his nose before being forced down all the way onto Xehanort’s cock. The length of it was a perfect match, fitting snugly into his throat if he relaxed. And relax he did, years of training coming into play as the tip gagged him for a few moments before Xehanort pulled him off with a pop. Sora’s mouth gaped open as his head was forcefully turned upward to meet his Master’s eyes.

“You’re going to swallow every last drop, understand?” Xehanort said. “No messing the carpet.”

Sora tried his hardest to prevent the tears from forming in the corners of his eyes. He coughed once to clear his throat and nodded obediently. “Y-yes, Master.” Sora whimpered softly and took a deep breath before opening his mouth and allowing Xehanort to guide his cock back inside. 

Again and again his head was thrust upon the appendage, a furious pace meant to bring Xehanort to a swift climax. There was nowhere for Sora’s mind to escape to. Every thrust knocked him back into the present. To the hand buried in his hair, to the fingers gripping the back of his head, to the burn in his knees and the harsh curve in his spine. To the way his own fingers scrambled for purchase on the leather seats, something to steady him, something to ground him. His eyes squeezed shut and his brows knit together until his entire face was on fire, praying for it to be over.

And then finally it was. With a single grunt Xehanort pressed as far into Sora as he could go and held him there, cock pulsing and squirting down Sora’s throat, hot and sticky. Sora regained his bearings just in time to roughly swallow everything his Master gave. That was his job. His purpose. This was all he was and probably all he’d ever be. A toy for Xehanort to use for his debauched pleasures. 

He just wanted to go home. He wanted to crawl into bed, pull the covers over himself and cry. But he had to keep it together for just a little bit longer. Right now, he had to be good. 

When the pulsing finally stopped and the aftershocks ceased, Xehanort gently pulled out, leaving Sora to collapse onto his elbows against the carpet. Though he gasped for air, he heeded his Master’s warning and made sure to swallow any remaining fluids in his mouth.

Humiliated, Sora remained on the floor for as long as he was allowed. He hadn’t been given permission to get up, and he didn’t want to. The soft carpet and the rumble of the limo were small comforts against his throbbing head and sore joints, but he’d take every second he could get. His mind was already retreating into a familiar veil of darkness, and though he fought against it every time, the battle was getting harder and harder.

The creaking of leather seats and the sound of a zipper were barely comprehensible over the ringing in his ears, but the pouring of liquid into a glass was unmistakable. Sora was still catching his breath and the bastard had already composed himself and gone back to sipping his expensive wine as if nothing had happened.

Sora wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to grab that wine bottle, break it over Xehanort’s head and stab him with the pieces. He wanted to open the door and roll out onto the street no matter how fast the limo was going. Surely it’d be better than this. It was a fantasy he thought about often in these moments after. 

But it was just that—a fantasy. Now, he’d go back to being a good boy. To following instructions, pleasing his Master and living for those little moments of affection he knew Xehanort was capable of. The tender touches and words of endearment. For the rewards he was afforded when he behaved. For the gifts— 

For Riku.

Sora let out a small gasp. _Riku_. Green eyes and silver hair lit up his mind like a light in the darkness, pulling him back from the abyss. Though he had only known him for a moment, Riku had looked at Sora with more kindness than anyone had looked at him in as long as he could remember. Could Riku be what he got to look forward to now?

“Come sit, baby.” Xehanort’s voice broke the silence and Sora raised his head to see him patting the seat next to him, the same vile smirk pulling back his lips.

No. What was Sora thinking? Just because Riku was also a slave it didn’t mean he was a kindred spirit. There were plenty of Sora’s peers in the house who despised him, jealous of his special treatment and being favored among them. Would Riku be like them? Hating Sora for being somehow above him? 

Besides, Xehanort was the one in control. Just because Sora had been the one to choose didn’t mean he had any say in what happened with Riku. Not in three years had Sora been with another slave for his _own_ enjoyment. He had been prepped by them, exhibited toys and devices with them, and gone down on them as entertainment at Xehanort’s private parties. But none of that was for _Sora’s_ pleasure. 

He may have done nothing more than chosen another dick to suck.

After wiping his tears on his sleeve, Sora willed his tired limbs into moving and climbed clumsily up onto the seat, sinking back into the plush leather by Xehanort’s side. An arm snaked around his back and pulled him close. The last thing he wanted was to be so close to Xehanort right now, but he was a— 

“Good boy.”

Sora visibly relaxed. He was. He was a _good boy_. How easily those words soothed him. How easily he slipped back under his Master’s control. 

Xehanort lifted Sora’s chin and turned it towards him to check his eyes. It took a moment for Sora to focus, but when he did, Xehanort seemed pleased. He looked down at Sora’s swollen lips and licked his own, hesitating for a moment before leaning forward and placing a kiss on Sora’s forehead instead. Sora couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Xehanort certainly wasn’t going to kiss him on the mouth after coming down his throat. 

Then to Sora’s surprise, Xehanort reached for a second wine glass from the bar and offered it to him. “We have a few more minutes. You deserve a treat.” 

A little confused, Sora tentatively accepted the expensive glassware, holding it between both hands as gently as if he were cradling a baby bird. It was a rare occasion that Sora was allowed to partake in the same drink as his Master. Deep red liquid swirled into his glass from Xehanort’s bottle, filling it about a quarter full. The floor lights in the limo glowed through the flawless crystal and danced in the red pool of spirits. 

“Thank you, Master,” Sora whispered as he brought the glass to his lips and tilted his head back. The dry notes slid across his tongue in a symphony of flavors, the taste of fine wine far preferable to the lingering taste of Xehanort’s cock. It hurt a little to swallow but he didn’t care. He gulped it down greedily, gratefully, finishing it in one go before it could be taken away. He hoped it was enough to stave off any bad dreams that awaited him tonight.

Upon lowering the glass, Sora jumped when he spotted a singular golden eye peering at him from the other end of the limo’s cabin. In the darkness, he couldn’t make out much else save for a toothy smirk when the figure noticed Sora looking back.

Oh, right. Xigbar. Xehanort’s bodyguard. 

Any time Xehanort left the mansion, Xigbar followed, lurking in the shadows, silently watching. Anyone with Xehanort’s amount of wealth and power didn’t obtain it without making plenty of enemies, and Xigbar was the best marksman corrupt money could buy. He was so stealthy that Sora always forgot he was there. But he was always there. And he had just watched Sora swallow Xehanort’s cock without a sound. The thought only made Sora a little self-conscious though. He had been forced to perform far worse in front of far more people.

The clink of the wine bottle against the rim of his glass drew Sora’s attention away from the man in the shadows and back to his Master. Xehanort was pouring even more wine into his glass, this time halfway full. Sora blinked in surprise. Xehanort had never given him more than a taste outside of the house before, and never after he had already been satisfied.

Not daring to question Xehanort’s generosity, Sora took another long sip and relaxed further into his Master’s arms. The fabric of his suit was soft and comforting, and Sora let his head loll against his shoulder, begging sleep to take him. But it was short-lived as Xehanort lifted his chin with a finger, keeping him in the moment. 

“Finish your drink, my pet,” he coaxed, lowering his head to capture the soft skin of Sora’s neck briefly between his lips. “It’ll help loosen you up...” His tongue dragged its way up to Sora’s ear and his teeth nipped at the lobe, hunger and lust driving every movement. “...For later.”

Sora’s stomach lurched hard and he almost dropped his glass. Turns out Xehanort wasn’t done with him yet. Like a fool, Sora had hoped that at most Xehanort would just want to cuddle tonight, his possessive arms wrapped tightly around him like a teddy bear.

But cuddling didn’t require ‘loosening up.’

Suddenly the wine didn’t taste as sweet. He reluctantly downed the rest of the glass, alcohol and cum sliding down his throat in a poison dance. “Yes, Master...”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading my shameless fic. Hope you enjoyed. Feel free to leave some love <3
> 
> Be my Twitter friend! I retweet all the Soxeha I can find. [@gaybladia](http://twitter.com/gaybladia)


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